“What's coming?” My voice sounds tiny even to me.
Chad jumps in, all serious business. “Clearbloods are plotting something big. That dragon experiment is just the appetizer. They want us extinct so they can sleep better at night.”
Which, okay, I get. Clearbloods are scared of us. We're scared of them. Tale as old as time. Our elders just find it easier to paint them as the mustache-twirling villains in this story. But if we're really heading into another full-blown war, I'd rather not be on the team that gets their asses handed to them.
“So what's the plan with Merlin's tomb?” I ask.
Corvin stops to look at me. “What do you know about him?”
“One of the first darkbloods, like you said. During the Schism, he went full spirit-nerd and basically invented our whole magical system.” I tap the edge of the tombstone with my boot. “Dude figured out how to juice up his magic by sweet-talking ancient spirits. Hence why we're not just regular witches with daddy issues—we're darkbloods with daddy issues and ghost friends.”
Corvin's eye twitches. “And what do you know about “crossing over”?”
“About as much as anyone with a pulse,” I reply with a shrug. “It’s supposed to lead to a spiritual place beyond the world that we know of. Darkbirch’s spirits haven’t crossed over, choosing to stay with us, to power our grid and to protect the generations to come.”
“Dominic Merlin's spirit is not in our grid,” Chad adds, like he's dropping some mind-blowing revelation.
Corvin gives him a flat smile. “Attaboy. Merlin never moved on, either.”
“So where'd he go? Spiritual sabbatical?” It makes me think of my dad, who’s been a sore spot between Esme and me since we were kids. She'd get all teary-eyed and say,“He chose to cross over because he preferred it to being around us.”Meanwhile, I'd be like,“No way, he's just lost in the spirit world somewhere, trying to find his way back.”Classic Salem sister drama. “If Merlin didn't cross over to the afterlife, that is...” I add for Corvin.
“I suppose you're both familiar with our mythology regarding the Ides,” Corvin says, all professor-y.
“The lost souls?” My eyebrows scrunch up. “Yeah, they're basically the cosmic equivalent of that one person who gets super drunk at a party and wanders off into the woods. Except forever. Just spirits floating around in their own personal hell-bubbles, going slowly nuts because they can't talk to anyone. Ever. For eternity.”
Corvin nods. “Spirits that wander the world. In and out of consciousness. Lost. Probably maddened by immortality spent in isolation. Disconnected from each other; a purgatory per spirit.”
So basically, if you're a spirit with commitment issues who ditches your coven's grid but also doesn't cross over, you're screwed. Kind of like the clearblood spirits we trapped in our barriers. But the Ides faced eternal solitary confinement. Even I wouldn't wish that on Chad, and he once made me run laps until I puked.
I shake my head. “I've done seances outside the coven walls, and I've never bumped into an Ide. They're basically unreachable.”
“Unreachable with that attitude.” Corvin's finger traces the edge of the blood pentagram. “This spell requires a series of—let's just say challenging trials. A darkblood must prove their worth.” He gently taps the tombstone. “Merlin's our only shot. According to his diary—which, by the way, has been the Director's little secret for generations—he actually wanted to become an Ide after death.”
“Wait, he volunteered for eternal solitary?” Chad's face scrunches up. “Why would anyone choose that?”
“Power,” Corvin mutters.
“Power?” I echo, though the pieces are already clicking together in my head like a really messed-up puzzle.
“Merlin had this theory about untapped power in the Ides realm.” Corvin keeps pacing around the pentagram. “Easier to access than farther-afield spirits, and way more controllable… You both know why we don't just tap the deathscape for juice while our grid's in recovery mode.”
Chad frowns. “Wait, the deathscape? You mean the afterlife?”
Corvin shrugs. “Two terms that are thrown around, without any of us truly knowing what they mean. The deathscape’s used morespecifically, though, if you’ve read Dampfield’sLives of the Dead. It’s where spirits congregate beyond our realm, supposedly to seek eternal rest.”
“And they'd fight like hell if we tried to disturb that rest,” Chad mutters.
“But the Ides,” Corvin says, eyes gleaming, “they could be persuaded.”
“Could?” I say. “Sir, this is all way too theoretical. We know exactly zero about the Ides either. Not what they want, nor how they'd react.”
Corvin gives me a tired look. “That's why we have Merlin's tombstone. The only one bold and self-sacrificial enough to untether himself from the coven's grid to delve into the unknown. Once we complete your trials, you’ll have the juice to summon Merlin and bind him to this tombstone. It’s our belief that he will have quite the stories to tell after all these centuries...”
“That's like putting a chain on a great white shark, sir,” Chad replies, and I nearly get whiplash turning to stare at him. Since when does Chad Valgrave disagree with Corvin?
“It's already settled,” Corvin says.
My stomach does this weird flippy thing. “What if I, uh, like, don't want to go through with the trials now that I know what's up? What if I just say no?”
